Once at the end of the song
I conquered many evils of the past
I purged them all, so wrong

Fine and well, a time it went along
Never asked a prickly question
Once at the end of the song

But they knew, their hurt could prolong
Upon my direction and then fester, so
I purged them all, so wrong

Patience tested, mind paused, strong
Resolved to end their laughter, yes
Once at the end of the song

Told to ignore, forget, to just belong
No, their first move invited mine
I purged them all so wrong

I skewered their legacy, twist and oblong
Their faces, masks, veils of evil
Once at the end of the song
I purged them all, so wrong

Is it my fault for digging the hole in which you crawl?
after you heard the girls whispering about your size
Who am I to say you are not beautiful at all?

You bought all that makeup to look like a doll
but he still walks past as tears flood your eyes
Is it my fault for digging the hole in which you crawl?

You read what was written on the bathroom stall
so you look towards me to confirm the lies
Who am I to say you are not beautiful at all?

You sit alone in lunch and walk alone in the halls
asking God as you look upon me to remove your disguise
Is it my fault for digging the hole in which you crawl?

It was in fact you who created your own fall
looking towards you to accentuate your flaws
Who am I to say you are not beautiful at all

In a way I helped you build your wall
though I can not mirror what your face implies
Is it my fault for building the hole in which you crawl
Who am I to say you are not beautiful at all

All i know is in the present tense
Yesterday a 'gift' i'd long to pass
Please forgive that smell of incense

In days behind, they tore me intense
Shred, poison, and stain my insides
All i know is in the present tense

So i mustered up the courage, hence
I light this pyre of their many acts
Please forgive that smell of incense

Feigned gifts, compliments, all fake scents
Yesterday hard to forget, thats why
All i know is in the present tense

Be better, truer, i was told days since,
but instead i longed to forget and burn, so
Please forgive that smell of incense

'Tis why i fear the future, all suspense
Bury, hide me, my smoke a sign that
All i know is in the present tense
Please forgive that smell of incense

Familiar grooves and caramel swells,
Fleshy masses and velvety, flecked skin
Of the body she hates and loves so well.
Trapped in this sole vessel in which she dwells,
Behind corpulent walls, she feels choked in.
Familiar grooves and caramel swells,
A warm and supple being, she compels
Herself to deface with hate. The scarring
Of the body she hates and loves so well.
Stare at the reflection, try to dispel
Scrutiny. She wants to embrace and grin.
Familiar grooves and caramel swells,
She knows her body’s deep and ***** spell,
Justifying gluttony, making sin
Of the body she hates and loves so well.
Gently caressing as she softly tells
Her fullness of forgiving and loving
Familiar grooves and caramel swells
Of the body she hates and loves so well.

We look upon the water and we see-
Among the sticks and twigs of chaos’ reign-
The type of person that we long to be.

The changes undertaken are in vain,
Beneath the surface creatures cry in pain-
We look upon the water and we see

The imperfections; all the things that feign
The other’s interest, if we just became
The type of person that we long to be...

But as our eyes grow tired and necks crane
And as our souls erupt in hatred’s flame,
We look upon the water and we see...

We see, through glasses fogged by pouring rain
The looking glass that lies and causes pain,
The type of person that we long to be.

Our imperfections cloud our views, they reign
Upon us and make misery a game-
We look upon the water and we see
The type of person that we long to be.

Look back when speaking like a cockerel crows,
Chest puffed with pomp to gloat on gloried loss;
Dying men hung no glory on their throes.

At cenotaphs bedecked in bloodied rose
Bouquets, Lord Mayors regale in golden gloss:
Look back when speaking like a cockerel crows.

Prime Ministers parading TV shows
Glory in hanging ratings on the dross:
Dying men hung no glory on their throes.

Young men talk tough of national pride; old woes
Won't heal by stoning rolling migrant moss;
Look back when speaking like a cockerel crows.

Recall dull medals hung on fettered boughs,
Lest we forget the names of those embossed:
Dying men hung no glory on their throes.

Tread light through evergreen and tranquil rows,
Where heroes rest beneath white painted cross;
Look back when speaking like a cockerel crows,
Dying men hung no glory on their throes.

I am here and you are far away,
beyond this strong relentless pain,
there's really nothing more to say.
For here I sit at break of day
beneath this darkened sky of rain:
I am here and you are far away.
And though I sigh out loud all day,
I know it in my bones and brain:
there's really nothing more to say.
There's little that I wouldn't pay,
but nothing I could hope to gain:
I am here and you are far away.
If I begin to dream and play,
to soothe my soul and keep me sane:
there's really nothing more to say.
Though I must find some other way,
the problem's easy to explain:
I am here and you are far away,
there's really nothing more to say.